A Thin Line
by Temporary Infatuation
Summary: Sam Audum was trying to leave his life behind, trying to get away from the constant fear. All he found was one more aggravation, who unfortunately saved his life - Dean Winchester.
1. Seperate But Equal

This story came to me completely out of the blue. I'm taking this idea I have and running with it, and hope I don't go in circles or crash in on myself while doing so.

**Summary: **The world has been reduced to empty land and abandoned cities, and Sam Audum runs among the devils and demons, barely surviving. Dean Winchester is a surprise he can't run away from.

**Warnings: **Very AU, I doubt it will bare any resemblance to the Winchester world we are used to. Nonwincest Sam/Dean slash.

**Disclaimers:** Kripke is still refusing my offers for the boys...selfish bastard

Also, I warned you about the slash. Flamers Not Welcomed.

* * *

Sam eyed the horizon with distaste, calculating how much time he had to get out of Midland before dark. The Pontiac sputtered under him, reminding him time wasn't the only problem he had; he was almost out of gas. The sun bore down, air hot and heavy on the cracked clay of the desert that was so close to the shoreline. Sam was determined to get out of this godforsaken land before the moon rose and brought the shadows onto him.

A hand-painted sign dawned from the lifeless domes, pointing him to an outpost village, and Sam hoped that they had reserve oil he could pawn something for, maybe some water for stock. The cracked pavement seemed to bow under him, the road mere chunks of asphalt dotted with the underlying cement.

Midland wasn't as bad as many claimed - the demons _could_ walk into the daylight just fine, but the heat reduced the life span of host bodies, so open road was relatively safe. Night was different story, which was why Sam was on his way out.

He had been born in the Midlands, right in the heart of him, right before the dark days started, so the prospect of them wasn't so terrifying, not near as much as the thought of what was following him.

The car shuddered to a halt twenty feet from a gas station, and Sam eyed the low bricks that encircled the building - a salt barrier. The circle was about four inches high, easy to step over, but the mortar had been laced with salt to keep out vessels. The barrier was supposed to be dug six inches into the ground, but this was shoddy work, and Sam could see someone had toppled the bricks by running them through with a car, or maybe just a bike. He shook his head - people weren't as careful as they were in the beginning.

"Hello?" Sam stepped away from the car, hand toying with the butt of a revolver - useless against Demons, but they weren't his only enemy. His ears picked up on something from within the gas station, from the moter home parked near it. He stopped cold, ice in his veins when he realized what the sound was - flies.

* * *

The open road is beautiful. That's the only good thing left about this country. Maybe thats not true - things are good near the coast, where the salt in the air drives away the bad things and brings in _hope,_ of all things - but Dean is almost positive that that pales in comparison with this beautiful stretch of gray. It's infinite, and it will be a long time before it fades - and in this life, time is everything.

Dean taps the wheel of the impala in beat with imaginary music, and whispers to himself. Long ago he accepted the fact that he was crazy, driven mad from days and months and fucking _centuries_ in the heart of a war, scared and broken time and time again. A little insanity is a worthy solace.

Darkness is beginning to fall, the sun retreating from this land, surrendering to the darkness once again. Dean sighs and slows the car, feeling blindly behind his seat until he finds a map. It used to be the of the United States, but it was now marked in blue circles and dots to show outposts and safelands. His fingertips found the nearest one seemingly without a glance and he turned off, the seamless pavement giving way to a gnarled and bumpy street, hoping for a bar in his future.

* * *

Sam's hand burned with callouses, the shovel heavy in his hands. He had cleaned out the motor home, his detached nature coming into play as he hauled out bloody body after bloody body, dried blood caked to their skin like Halloween's play. He had dug a hole, dumped them in, one by one. Lit the match, holding the beauty of the flame in his eyes for moments before letting it fall, catch the lighter fluid and scorch the dirt.

The gas station had been worse.

Sam couldn't go back there, not to those bodies. Some had been massacred - the ones that had fought back, most likely - the others, mainly women and children, were simply discarded - vessels that hadn't suited the demons.

Instead, he took out his salt, circled it around his car. He painted a dozen devils traps, hoping to get lucky and fend something off if it decided to come back.

Then he huddled low in the back seat, the car almost tightening around him, a vice around his psyche. He fought the urge to cry and pulled up his notebook, reaching in his pocket and pulling out the cards he had found on the counter in the motor home, his hand steady.

_Andrea Julen, Age 29, Found 6.21.08  
Garret Julen, Age 31, Found 6.21.08  
Unknown Girl, Age abt. 9, Found 6.21.08  
Unknown Boy, Age abt. 18 months, Found 6.21.08_

Sam felt his chest tighten as he wrote the last one. He didn't know why he did this, filled pages and pages, some with entire paragraphs about their life, their death, what they were like. Most were only sentences, information he happened upon, names, ages, birthplaces.

He just thought someone should remember, remember that once people actually _lived._

He drifted into sleep, the work ID's held tight against his chest, the faces burned forever into his brain.

* * *

The clouds grumbled their discontent, flashes hot and white cutting against a blackened sky. The storm had come in so suddenly it seemed to chase off the faint lingering glimmers of sunset, replacing it with a bruised gloom. Sam glared at the sky, fought the urge to raise a fist and curse the heavens like in a bad play.

The rain started to hit the windows, little _platterplatter _noises that fought through Sam's growing wall of sleep. He could hear them in his dreams; black smoke on the roof of a tiny cabin; a man with a toothless grin tapping on the glass of his tank, his prison; the sound of blood hitting cold concrete.

He woke in cold sweat, hand finding his knife and brandishing blindly in front of him, slashing wildly through empty air.

Sam could feel the demons, heavy beneath his skin. Everything in him was on fire.

_LeaverunGetoutgetoutgetout. They'recoming. Runrunrunrun._

There were the other voices,too. Low and guttural, whispering to him, usually far away tones shockingly loud in his head.

He knew they were close, years of training giving him warning. He was drinking oil, his throat closed and tight in the stale car, waiting for dawn. If it ever came for him.

* * *

Rain poured down the windshield of the Impala, little crystalline rivulets, pure and clean. _ShwickShwickShwick - _the sound of the windshield wipers almost lulled Dean, making him blink dreary eyes.

He could see the silhouetted forms of buildings through the rain and dark, his headlights catching the obscurred gleam of a car conceled in shadow.

Dean blinked once. Twice.

His hand fumbled behind the seat, frantic. He pushed harder on the gas, the shotgun finally fitting into his hand as he swung the corner, switching hands on the sterring wheel and fumbling with the window crank.

He aimed blindly into the night, fired off a shot. He could see someone in the car, palm against the window, stark white against the darkness. They were still.

_NononononoNOOO._

After all this time, death never ceased to horrify him. He tore out of the car, screaming into the night, another loud shot. His voice was raw as the words fell from his mouth, familiar and tasting like ash and copper. The dark moved away, disappeared and melted into the black sky.

He ran to the car, found it locked and shattered the front window, little glass squares casscading as he fumbled with the inner lock.

_Pleasepleaseplease be alive, come on._

The boy was younger than him, unlined face ashen white. There were double pairs of red crescents on his temples, fingernail marks. Dean pulled him out, surprisingly thick body falling from his grasp and hitting the pavement sickeningly.

"Okay, okay, wake up now. Come on, boy, stay with me." He brushed locks of dark hair turned almost black away from his face, trying to catch a glimmer of his eyes, anything. They boys breath was coming hard and ragged, his eyes moving fitfully behind his lids. "Fine, it's not like you're _heavy_ or anything." Dean hauled him up over his shoulder, staggering to his car among the empty street.

* * *

Okay, it took me a _really_ long time to write this chap, for some reason. I don't know how long it will be to get the next one up, but I doubt long, now that I've gotten into it. Lets hope. Review and tell me if I'm doing something wrong, kay?

* * *


	2. The Voices In My Head Are Singing

_It's really really cold, so cold it burns like fire. Sam's standing alone, doesn't see anyone else, but he can feel their presence, so close it feels like they are inside him. The black is moving fast, and oh, god he can taste it, soot and acid. There is panic in him, but he doesn't know why, doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing.  
_

_Then he realizes how silent it is. The pressure of it is new and exhausting, like moving a dormant muscle. 'Somethings not right,' he realizes, everything inside him going completely still.__'Something is terribly, horribly wrong.'_

_It's like hes trying to say something but can't find his words, he's talking to an old friend whose name he can't quite remember, walked into a room for a reason he's forgotten. _

_And then he's sinking, and that black is covering up his soul, burying him, and he can't breathe. God, why can't he just **breathe**?_

* * *

Dean stared worriedly at the the body beside him, hand hovering above him. The boy's face was red and sweating, jaws clenching and unclenching rapidly, his hands tearing into his jeans. He was muttering, little droplets of sweat clinging to his skin, making him seem fevered and sick.

"Hey, hey kid?" He let his hand come down, move against the damp material of the boy's shirt. "Hey kid, wake up." His head thrashed to one side, lips moving soundlessly. Dean's brow furrowed as he grabbed the his shoulder and shook, hard.

The boy shot up, taking big, gulping breaths, swallowing air. Suddenly tendrils of pain shot through Dean's wrist as he could feel it being wrenched out of his socket slowly.

"Who are you?" Surprisingly tired voice, surprisingly tired eyes. Dean tugged at his hand, anger welling in him.

"I'm the one that saved your clueless ass, now let me go!" He could see the kid shaking, breath still ragged. He looked around the car, looked back at Dean.

"I'm...sorry." He pried his fingers from Dean's wrist, leaving little red welts in their stead. Dean rubbed it slowly, trying to get blood back into his hand.

"It's okay." He muttered. "Are you going to tell me your name?" The kid was still shocked, his whole body giving off little tremors that made Dean want to grab his shoulders, steady him. But in truth he was scared to touch him.

"Where am I? What happened?"

"The outpost. You were passed out cold when I found you. We are only about a quarter mile from your car." The boy was already fumbling with the handle, frantic fingers pulling open the door. "Hey, wait a sec!" Dean got out and ran after him. "Where do you think you're going? I can't let some kid walk into the desert alone."

"It's Sam. Not kid, Sam. And I can make it to the shoreline if I start now." He kept walking, fast pace making Dean almost jog to keep up with long legs and a wide stride.

"Hey, that's it?" Sam turned, so quickly Dean almost stumbled.

"I...I don't anything to pay you with. I'm sorry. What do you expect?"

"Well, usually people grovel. That's always nice." He smirked, but he didn't feel happy. This was an actual person, and he was walking away...The kid '_Not kid, Sam' _glared at him.

But then his gaze softened.

"Thank you. For helping me. It would've been much easier to leave, but you didn't. Why?"

"It's my job." The words came from Dean's mouth without thought.

_Oh, great, a hunter. Just what I need, another freaking macho ass._ Sam's own thoughts were visciously loud, in such a harsh contrast to the quiet of his dreams. "Oh. Well, thanks." He turned abruptly, finally reaching his car. He popped the trunk, grabbed his things, tried to fit everything in the back seat into the last empty one.

Finally he turned away from the car, let his feet hit the asphalt of the road, leaving the dust behind him. He heard the rumble of the Impala's engine behind him, and Dean sidled up next to him.

"Hey?" Sam looked up. "You don't need to walk, moron. I have a perfectly good car right here. You want a ride?"

"No, thanks." Sam stared ahead, trying not to meet those eyes. People's eyes always broke him, made him give in. When the car didn't speed up, he stopped, expected Dean to give up and drive away. It didn't happen. Instead the door opened.

Sam looked over and saw Dean stretched across the front seat, pulling back to the wheel.

"You going to leave me here? Because I will follow you with this car the whole way. I saved your ass once, it'd be a real pain if you just went off and died."

Sam looked down the stretch of road, gray and dusty, heat beginning to pool in thick dark puddles. He didn't trust Dean, but he wasn't scared of him.

"Yeah, alright."

* * *

This was a bad idea. Dean knew this was a bad idea. This was possible the worst idea he has ever had. He glanced at Sam, who was staring resolutely out the car window, entranced by dry clay.

"Where are you going?" Deans umpteenth try at conversation. Sam glanced at him, and Dean prepared himself for another short, leadless answer.

"I don't know." That surprised Dean. Guys like Sam, they always had a plan. _Guys like Sam? You met him, what, twelve hours ago? And for eight of those, he was asleep. Get it into your head. He's not your friend._ Sam was saying something to him, and Dean shook the voice away.

"What?" He was having trouble concentrating on the road, his eyes drawn to the boy next to him. An actual, living, breathing person, here, in his car. When was the last time that happened? _He's not a boy._ _He's a man, and he is obviously able to take care of himself._The voice reminded him, and he mentally swatted at it. _If he didn't need my help, I wouldn't have had to, you know, _rescue _him._

"I just want to get out of midlands." Sam's voice still shook him, all deep like that. He had an old voice.

It was the most he had spoken since they had left the outpost.

Usually when Dean meets people, they want to tell him about themselves. They want to boast about what they have seen, where they have been. It didn't take a genius to figure out why - he's a hunter. People share their stories to show they're as tough as him, better than him, above him. 'You're a hunter? Oh, I helped give birth to a centaur. Now what do you have to say?' And when it isn't about that, it's all about getting into the pants of a pretty face - more times than not, they would have higher chances if they just shut their mouths. But, then again, more times than not they got what they wanted. Everyone's happy. Sort of.

"And then what?" He wanted to hear more. It was so rare he needed to ask, but the feeling wasn't entirely unwelcome. So he was curious... what was so bad about that?

Sam looked at him, liked he hadn't expected that. "Oh, well...I don't..." Dean laughed, and studied the imaginary yellow line in front of him.

"Kid, its pretty obvious you were running towards something." Sam's gaze went blank and stony. _Whoops._ "I mean, you were in a rush. You were prepared to walk to the coastline. You have something waiting?" Sam loosened, and Dean felt his gaze falling from Dean's face, finally turning back to the window.

"Yeah. My new life, hopefully." Dean nodded and tore his eyes away from the road, but he couldn't see Sam's face, just the curve of his jaw and one ear, half obscurred in dark hair. Dean's eyes followed the slide of sweat down into the crook of his neck until it pooled in the front of his white tee, making the material cling to his skin. Dean could see a dark color, creeping up below his collar bone above the hem. Deep black against tan skin.

Sam glanced at him and Dean's eyes shot forward, the image of Sam's bruised body searing his eyes. Inside, the voice taunted him. _He's not running to anything, Dean Winchester. He's running from something._Then the voice laughed, and Dean winced. _Well, aren't you glad you picked up the nice stranger._ It was cold laughter.

* * *

Okay, this chapter is short, but sort of a bridge to the next one, and it breached the beginning. I'm trying to take this story slow, despite the ideas flying around my head.

Review and tell me if anything is bothering you, or to tell me what to keep doing right, kay?

* * *


	3. Because This Bar Is Home

Sam stared down into his beer, the glass cold and slick in his hand. _I could be at the shore by now._ To be truthful he was glad for Dean's insistence that they stop. His legs were cramped and his back hurt from being tangled in the front seat, and his head hurt from Dean talking so much.

After Sam made it clear he wasn't interested in conversation, Dean put a tape in. Sam could still feel the remnants of the bass line in his bones, heavy and unsettling.

Sam let his tongue trail along the rim of the bottle, trying to make this beer last as long as he could. He wasn't sure how Dean knew about this place, but he suspected it was a hunter's outpost, despite the smattering of thin, bony girls that littered the place, knotty bodies moving grotesquely along with the music in what they probably thought was a sexy manner. Dean had grabbed a girl from the bar wordlessly, and now he was holding her close on the dancefloor, eyes closed and head toward the sky as their hips rutted together, his hands digging into her sides.

Sam wouldn't admit it to him, but Dean had good taste. She looked like a hunter; slim body, built, long red curls cascading down her back. She wasn't looking at Dean, because her eyes were closed too, her nails making little white marks on his skin below the line of the sleeves of his tee. Sam looked away when her eyes open in little slits, cast him a thin smile, but he didn't think she really saw him. They were both lost at the moment.

Sam had never been in a place like this. It was larger then most bars, split in half with pool tables and poker games on one side, the other side serving as a dirty dance floor, the floor dusted with sawdust shavings haphazardly, soaking up spilled beer. It was still cramped like a bar, the air thick and musty with cigarette smoke and chalk dust. He looked at the pool tables and thought about hustling some pool so he could pay Dean for driving him, but couldn't seem to make himself move. He took another swig of beer and felt it go down coldly, chill his stomach.

He looked back at Dean, whose hands had moved up to the girl's neck, their foreheads meeting as their bodies curved around eachother. In the midst of the jutting bodies, they looked like elegant gods. Sam scoffed.

Dean wasn't a god. Dean was an arrogant ass. _"Oh, come on, Sammy, I can't let you go off alone. after all, I'm a _hunter,_ therefore I have to be better than you." _

_I can't believe she's going to fall for his act._ He thought, motioned for another beer. He rested his forehead against the bar and felt the grooves of the wood against his skin. He stayed that way until a hand dropped in front of him, the thunk of glass on wood making him start.

"Thanks." He said and looked up. It was Dean, his face flushed and his breath deep. The girl was leaning against the bar, her dark tank top riding up a mere half inch so he could see the lines of her abs. Dean leaned close and whispered in his ear.

"I'm sliding the key to the room in your jacket pocket. The room number is on the key. The hotel is above this place. I'll see you in the morning, okay. Can you take care of yourself?" Sam nodded, jaw clenching. _I should've just walked._

"Where are you going?" He asked, keeping his voice as low as Dean's. Dean pulled away, winked.

"Where do you think?" The girl turned, supporting herself against Dean, her breath shuddery. Her eyes were locked on his now.

"Who's he?" She asked, in the kind of way people do when they don't really care about the answer.

"Just some kid I picked up." Sam gripped the bar, popped the top off of his beer on the side. "_Oh, I'm a great guy like that..."_

"Is he a hunter, too?" Half curious, voice still shaky as he led her around the tables.

"I have no clue." Sam grinned around his beer. _That is so true._

_So that's what this place was. A hotel lobby. _It made more sense. After everything happened, the place got deserted until hunters found it, built a salt barrier, put grooves around the room and filled them with salt, added devils traps to the ceiling, pulled out the old furniture and put in pool tables and an old juke box, took the liquor out of storage. A lot of places got filled in like that after the first few years. They had been lucky to find this one, probably. While most hunters moved alone, like they used to before the Gate opened, a few had set up in groups, started businesses to keep the weapons in their hands, set up a safe spot for other hunters to sleep.

In alot of ways, this world had gotten worse, but in this way, it had gotten much better.

_Not that the hunters have changed._ Sam thought as he watched Dean pin the girl against the wall of the staircase, tearing his gaze away before Dean leaned down to steal a kiss.

"Hey, kid, you want to play?" Big guy, almost as tall as him. Buzzed hair, a scar mangling one ear.

"Sure." He grinned, stumbled a bit when he jumped down, pretended to steady himself against the bar. The guy smirked. _Some people are way too easy._

* * *

Sam was a smart kid, really he was. Perhaps tonight had not been very good evidence of that.

He was pushed against one table, gripping the thin wood of his pool stick.

"You weren't playing like that an hour ago. This is an honest place, and you come in here hustlin? You scum, like we ain't got enough problems." The guy shoved him, and the edge of the pool table dug into his back painfully. Sam turned slowly, set the pool stick down. The bar was nearly empty now, but the few souls still there turned from their games and drinks.

"Look, dude, don't blame me for your shoddy game. An hour ago you weren't this drunk. I made one lucky shot." That wasn't entirely true. He should've been more careful, not let himself win so quickly.

"Bullshit. I'm not paying you." Sam sighed, turned.

"Hear that guys? He's not gonna pay me." He shrugged, and this time he didn't have to pretend to stumble. The room shifted a little in his vision.

"Oh, just give the boy his money, Roberts, otherwise we'll never hear the end of it." The bartender called out, now sitting on one end of the scarred counter. People were getting their own drinks, passing cigarettes back and forth, but now everyone was still, eyes turned on Sam.

"No, I think not. It's damn obvious he was playin' me. He could've given it a little class, at least." Sam giggled.

"Says the guy that was hitting on the bus boy an hour ago." His stomach lurched, and he registered the fist coming at his face. He barely felt it, but then a dull pain crept up his jaw, and he was on the floor. _Smells like vomit._ He thought, and waited for the next hit to slide through his system, but it didn't come. _I'm not that drunk._ He thought, and swung his head upwards.

_Dean. That jackass is saving me. Again. Why can't he just mind his own damn business? I never asked for his help._ Dean was behind the mark, had his arms pinned behind him.

"You move, your shoulders are coming out of your sockets. Calm down. I said calm down!" He jerked against Dean, then went still.

"Alright. I said alright!" He tried to wrench free, then cried out in pain.

"You gonna pay the boy?" _The boy. Gee, thanks Dean._

"Yeah, whatever you want. Winchester, man, let me free!" Dean hesitated, then flung the man behind him, standing between him and Sam.

"Pay up." He held out his hand, and a roll of bills filled it.

"Now was that so hard?" Dean turned, helped Sam to his feet.

With some difficulty, he half pulled Sam up the stairs, making various statements about Sam's weight. He finally made it their room, letting Sam lean against the wall before letting him go, rummaging in his pockets for the key.

"I'm not that drunk, man. You didn't have to do that." Dean found it, unlocking the door and shoving Sam in.

"Uh huh. I needed the room key. What, you want me to sleep in the hall when I have a place fitted for a king here?" He steered Sam to a chair, started pulling off his boots.

"Why didn't you sleep with What's Her Face?"

"I did." Dean winked. "Then she left. Got a call, got a job." _I wonder who was playing who more. I wonder if he thinks that, too._

"Why are you doing this? You barely know me. Oh, right, its your _job._" He giggled again as Dean pulled off his socks and pulled him from the chair onto the bed, muttering.

"There's beer all over your shirt! You cant sleep in that." He grumbled. "Come on Sammy, raise up your arms."

"What, you undressing me, Dean? Am I another fun time?" He slurred, but dutifully put his arms up.

"Oh, come on. You know your boobs aren't big enough." Dean pulled off the tee shirt, then sat back. Blue and purple bruises smattered Sam's chest, painting his ribcage. Dean could see the darker circles that ran from his back, near his kidneys.

_Can't ask tonight. Cant ask at all._

"Aren't I pretty?" Sam was looking out the window. Dean unzipped Sam's bag and hoped it had clothes in it. He had grabbed one at random when he got the room, scared the boy would bolt. He got lucky.

"Come on Sammy, you need another shirt. Arms up."

"I told you, I'm not that drunk." But he put his arms up again, letting Dean slip on a white undershirt and then a tee. "Why are you doing this, Dean?" He asked again.

_I don't know. I really don't. But I feel like you need me. Please need me. _Dean thought. Instead, he ignored the question.

"Okay, Sammy, lie down." He let Sam fall to the mattress.

"It's Sam, not Sammy." Sam huffed. "Not even my father calls me that."

"He sounds like a wonderful man." Dean said, trying to keep the anger from his voice.

"He was an arrogant ass who fucked everything he could get his hands on, and didn't give a damn what anyone else wanted." Sam said, voice low and sleepy and barely noticeable. Dean wished he didn't notice it. "You are just like him." Were his last words before he slipped into sleep.

* * *

When Sam woke up, the dirty motel room was his only company. His throat burned like bad whiskey, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth sickeningly. He blinked and groaned, sitting up and looking around the empty room. For a moment he expected it to be completely empty, but no - Dean's duffel was leaning against one wall, somehow making him feel more lonely. It wasn't often he was waiting for someone, and the feeling was unpleasant.

His stomach roiled and bucked as he stood, making him surge from the tiny dark room to the smaller, darker bathroom.

God, he hated being sick. He tucked his legs under him, heaved into the toilet bowl. A sound came from his mouth, and he instantly regretted it, his throat constricting around what felt similar to broken glass. He waited for things to focus, settle, but instead he shook and gagged again.

"Sam?" _Slam._ The sound of the door closing made Sam shudder, and he rolled out of his crouch and onto the cold tile. "Sam, I thought I could probably take you the rest of the way today. Sam...?" Sam thought he might have heard laughter behind him. "You lightweight, you barely had anything to drink. I talked to the bartender. Sam? Sam, you okay?" The voice was picking up speed, getting louder, but he couldn't get a hold on what was being said, couldn't make sense of it. It was too loud. A blur that might have been Dean's face swam into his vision, and he shut his eyes against it. One shockingly cold hand came up and touched his face, his neck. He tried to say Dean's name, tell him he was fine, but he lost his hold. Things went very dark.

* * *

The first thing Sam noticed was how bright the room was. Then the feel of the scratchy comforter underneath him. He tried to sit up, tried to see his surroundings, but Dean was suddenly by his side, voice calm, telling Sam to relax, take it easy.

"What happened?" His voice was rough, but it didn't hurt to speak as bad it did yesterday. At least he thinks that was yesterday...

"You ask that a lot, you know that? What do you think happened? I come in and you're passed out on the bathroom floor. Calm down, I think it was just heat exhaustion. I never should have left you alone." Sam rolled his eyes.

"You barely know me. Don't worry about it." This time when he sat up, Dean didn't stop him, but his muscles ached in protest. Dean had made one bed and put Sam on top of the covers. His face and neck was damp, and his over-shirt had been taken off and thrown over the foot of the bed. "This isn't the first time I've had heat exhaustion, I'll be fine." Dean looked at his feet for a moment, then nodded.

"You hungry? I think you threw up pretty much everything you've eaten recently, not to mention the fact you've been in this bed for the last fifteen hours or so." Sam gnawed on his lip - he could see that part of Dean again, shocking as always. That _please look at me, see me, say something, please. Please stay with me. _He had seen it when they first met, Dean making some stupid joke about the favors people do for him. In a few hours Sam would forget that part exists, replaced with all the arrogant, cocky shit that Sam wanted to strangle him for, and all he really wanted to do was get back on the road.

Before he could stop it, he heard himself saying, "Sure, I could eat. Why, they got a buffet somewhere around here?" A grin stretched across his features so wide it hurt, and he cursed himself. _You can't even stand this guy, he just annoys you. The sooner you get away from him, the better. Why do you even care?_ But Dean was meeting his eyes, and his smile was genuine. _Dammit. _

"I'm sure I can find a place." Dean said, rising and popping his back. _Dammit again. _

"Okay. Let me change out of these sweaty clothes real fast." Sam stripped out of his shirt, the material sticking to his skin. He turned away, but he could feel Dean's eyes mapping out the bruises that had been barely visible above his neckline.

"Um...Sam?" Sam ignored him for a moment, tired sick body catching him up as he forced himself into another shirt.

"What?" He feigned ignorance, tried not to let Dean see him lean against the dresser, his energy failing him a little.

"Uh...Nothing. Lets go eat."

* * *

**Author's Afternote**

I swear this story has a plot, I'm just letting things go smooth.

Again, tell me what I'm doing wrong or right

And sorry this chap is so long and doesn't really get us far, but I am getting there. For the first time in a story, I'm taking my time.


	4. The End Of The Beginning

The bar was almost empty, the dim lights turned up. It was that restless time in the evening after everyone that had stayed here had left, but before anyone new arrived. A few calm poker games carried on in one corner, thin tendrils of smoke from their cigerettes making Sam cough. Dean grinned.

"Can we get a few burgers, William?" He asked the teenager that was tending bar.

"Wrap them up, we're getting out of here." Sam cut in, and the boy nodded. Dean shot him a questioning look and he shrugged.

"You said you could take me the rest of the way today. We're only about a half hour away." Dean studied his face for a moment, then nodded.

"Alright, I can do that."

* * *

Dean wouldn't let Sam actually eat in the car, so he sat on the hood.

"Why don't you just eat inside?" He teased, sitting next to Sam as he inhaled the meat. Sam shrugged, finished off the last piece with a hungry gulp.

"If I'm going to be stuck in your musty car for the next half hour, I want some fresh air." He grinned, and Dean made a face.

"Just get in the damn car, smart ass." He said, but his eyes were smiling. Sam dutifully climbed in, and Dean held out one hand, filled with a dull green roll of bills.

"What's this?" He asked, taking it from him.

"That's what you won playing last night. Or whenever." He shrugged. "You didn't think I'd steal it from you, didya?" He asked as he started the car. Sam was silent for a moment, then turned to him.

"I was hustling so I could pay you for helping me." He said, eyes down, and Dean laughed.

"I know, dude. I'm not an idiot. But there's no need. I have to go near the coast anyway. I have a case."Sam glanced at him.

"Near the coast?" He asked, voice shaky.

"Well, yeah. The salt doesn't run off everything, or even as much as we'd like. I wouldn't worry though." He said. They were cruising now, and Sam nodded.

"I'm not worried." And he wasn't, at least not about the creatures.

* * *

They both sat on the hood, looking over the ocean. Sam pushed back, leaned against the cool glass of the windshield and stretched out his legs. He closed his eyes, but he could feel Dean's eyes on him, worried.

_Just let it go, man. I'll be fine._ Dean was talking to him. "So what are you going to do now?" he asked, and Sam could feel his gaze slide back to the ocean. _Why do you even care?_ Sam wanted to ask, but instead he shrugged.

"I don't really have a plan." He admitted, opening his eyes. Dean's back was to him. He was clenching his fists.

"Oh, well. You know. I am staying on the coast for a while." He glanced back at Sam expectantly. "I could take you to the next outpost." He said. He was chewing on the inside of his lip, casting Sam little, axious glances without meeting his gaze.

_Oh, shit._ Sam thinks, but he hears himself saying, "Yeah, okay. Thanks. As long as we can rest in actual beds tonight." Dean is grinning at the ocean, nodding his head.

"Yeah, okay, Sammy, whatever you want." _Oh shit._

* * *

_What are they, setting up franchises?_ Sam thinks as he stares at the old motel. Its tiny, but the wall surrounding it juts out a dozen feet, and inside it people are drinking, partying, like they are oblivious to the world around them. Maybe they are. Leave it to Dean to know about this place.

He glances down at the map, and sure enough, there is a tiny little dot right where they are. Sam remembers Dean raising his eyebrows, smirking.

"Oh, I always know a place." Inside, he grins, but its a grotesque grin. Sam wants to hit him. _If you wanted to get away from him so bad, you wouldn't have taken him up on this dumb ass offer._ He reminds himself. He knows thats true, but he finds it hard to accept when Dean is giving him snark through the check out window as he flirts with the girl behind the counter. He settled low in his seat as Dean comes around to the car.

"Carry in the bags, will ya? I got us in for free." His tongue darted from behind his teeth, and Sam feels something in his center tighten in disgust.

"Yeah, whatever." He says before he hauls the bags in.

* * *

An hour later, Sam's leaning against the worn brick of the salt barrier. Its taller than most, and sturdy. That comforts him in some small part of his mind. A pretty brunette is leaning next to him, flashing a smile. She's talking about her familly, and how they moved down to South America where the demons are alot scarcer because of the wet heat.

"I wonder how long it takes a vessel to die out." She's saying. "I mean, I know they last a while, you know? But, like, they can't last forever, right?" Sam can't focus on her train of thought, doesn't want to.

"Hey, I'm going to go get a beer." He says to Candice?...Kira? Courtney?...and she giggles.

"Oh, thanks." He rolled his eyes, went to the table thats half leaning against one side of the building. The cheap plastic cup flew from his hand as someone knocked him, soaking down one leg of denim.

"Hey, watch where you are going!" _Oh, great, it's the cliche drunk biker. And this night was going so well. _He thought, muttering an apology.

"Hey, aren't you Daniel Audum's boy?" He asks. Sam feels his stomach tighten. "What the hell are you doing out here. You know, your old man almost got me killed. You ain't welcome here." Sam threw out his fist, connected with the guys jaw. He fell, hard.

"Don't talk about my father!" He screamed, throwing a kick to the guys ribs, backing him up against the wall. Faces turned to him as he braced himself against the brick, the man's body turning to puddy as he landed blow after blow. Strong arms wrapped around him, pulled him away. Suddenly Dean was in front of him, had him pinned to the other side of the narrow alley.

"Get in there! Now!" He ordered, gestured to the small office that branched from the side. Sam took a deep breath, nodded. "What the hell are you guys staring at?" Dean said after him, followed him in. "What the hell were you thinking, Sam!? Do you have any idea who that guy is? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I don't need your help, Dean! I never fucking asked for it." He said, throat raw. Fuck, his hand hurt.

"You better start asking! This is the third time I saved your ass since I met you. You are a walking fucking disaster, you know that?!"

"Yeah, well you told you to save me? I sure as hell didn't! Face it, Dean, you just want to keep me around, but I am not sticking around! Do you honestly think I want to stay here with you!?" His back hit the wall, and Dean's eyes were wide and glassy in front of him, his hands digging into the thin material of his shirt.

"Shut your mouth." He said, low in his throat.

"Or what, Dean? You gonna hit me? Gonna shut me up? Huh?" Dean was so close he could taste his breath, feel it skid across his face. He wrenched forward, slammed that mouth into his, tasting whiskey and salt and _Dean._ Dean was moaning against him, hands pushing him back into the plaster, jaw working his mouth open forcefully. Then the feel was gone.

"I...am going to get a drink." He said, so quiet Sam almost didn't hear it. His lips tingled, and he touched them, wincing. Dean had bit him, drawing a thin line of blood.

_Oh, shit._

* * *

Dean swallowed his beer, no longer enjoying his party. _Fuck. I kissed Sam. _The thought swam sickeningly through him. _I'm not even gay. Is he gay? Oh, fuck._ The voice reared back, giggled. _Well, you do have good taste Dean Winchester. Very good taste. He's a pretty thing, isn't he? _

_Shut up, I'm not listening to you._ He stared down into thin liquid.

_Yes, you are. You can't ignore me. You think he liked it, Dean? Think he's thinking about it right now? Or maybe you disgust him. Were you planning on asking him to hunt with you? Well, that's out of the question now, ain't it? Or maybe not. Maybe this is what you've wanted since the beginning. You thinking about running your hands over that muscled body, Dean? Come on, Dean, you can tell me...what do you want to do to that boy? _Dean clenched the cup, thin plastic cracking and dribbling cheap beer down his wrist into the dark dirt. He threw the beer asde, tried to shake off his hand.

_Shut the fuck up. For once just shut up. For once stay out of this. Please get out of my head..._

And he got himself another beer.

* * *

Sam rested his hand against the shower wall.

"_Look, Sammy, I got us the best room in the house."_ Dean had gestured to the lopsided mattresses and the broken window on one side. All in all, it was a pretty good room, really. Way better then he had stayed in with his father.

_Dean's face, a look of sheer joy as he opened the bathroom door. "Theres a shower! And it works! Ha!" _Sam had still been moping, tired from listening to Dean's remarks about various women and how Sam could have better luck with them "if you'd...," but seeing Dean so pleased with something as simple as running water had made Sam's stare turn to a lopsided grin.

"I can't think about this anymore tonight." He said to the cheap plastic. Running a hand through his damp hair.

Finally, he shut off the shower and lugged himself out of the tiny bathroom, finally forcing himself into clothes.

_What if he doesn't come back? What if he just leaves me here? This isn't the middle of the desert. It's not an outpost either, but its almost decent. He might just drive off, there's nothing stopping him. _He let his own mind go silent and tried to listen to something deeper, the warnings of demons close, but heard nothing. That silence lulled him to sleep.

* * *

_Nononononononono. Sam had to stop something, had to destroy something, had to save something. The dark was swallowing him and he couldn't get away. A little white light inside him burned so hot it scorched his soul, seared his eyelids to his pupils painfully. _

_Getawayfromhim! He was frantic, searching. Protecting. That was new. He didn't like it. he didn't like being responsible for something other than himself._

_"This must be what Dean feels." he suddenly thinks, and then the dark is eating at that light, and he's fading. Again. And no one is saving him._

_And he is saving no one._

"Sam?!" Dean was shaking him awake, and he bolted up. Dean was immediately tuning away, towards his bag on the dresser.

"Hey." He said, unsure of what to do. He waited for a response, but Dean was staring into his duffel, giving careful attention to yesterday's clothes as he folded them.

"Get your shit, the next outpost is three hours away. Its a real big place, a town. Civilization." Dean grunted, and Sam could practically taste how bitter he was.

"Dean..." He started, rising from the bed. They had to talk about this, he couldn't leave Dean like this.

"Sam. No." He said. _Sam. Not Sammy, Sam._

"Okay, I'll get my stuff." He said, and they were silent. Finally, Dean turned and stared at Sam. "What?"

"Sam, you don't have to come with me. If you want to stay here, that's fine, there is probably someone willing to take you th rest of the way. If you don't want to...you can stay here if you want." He ended shortly, but Sam was already shaking his head.

"No, people don't like me here." Dean wasn't looking at him, he was staring at the tops of his boots. "Besides, I trust you, not them." He admitted quietly, then turned back to his bag before Dean could respond, say something to make him regret it.

* * *

**Author's Afternote**

Last chapter that is just a buildup to the real story. Sorry, but I had to give a little backplot. I could've just begun at the next chapter, but it wouldn't have made much sense, without knowing about how they met.

After this, there will be less drama and more action...well, there will be more action.

Review, and whatnot.


	5. Entwined Is The Path

Authors Note:

Okay, here we go. This chapter contains sex, but its not very graphic, not really, but its not subtle at all either. You have your warning. This story kind of came from a combination of two ideas, so its a little messy. Wish me luck!

* * *

Sam stared up at the ceiling of his motel room, eyes heavy. He could feel Dean, just outside, and he shook his head to rid himself of the feeling. _Just let it go, man. I'm safe. You have work to do._ He squinched his eyes shut and put a hand to his forehead. _I have to stop thinking about him. I need to sleep._ He reminded himself, and rolled onto his side.

He could remember the awkward goodbye, the way Dean hadn't met his eyes, and just thrust his hand out in place of a hug. Since Dean had picked him up, Sam had felt on edge, jumpy, would've done anything to get away from the confines of the car, of Dean's gaze. Now he felt empty, vulnerable.

He bunched the blankets tighter around him and closed out all his thoughts, not thinking about the fluttering voice in the back of his head. Not giving it any attention at all.

* * *

_"Dean!" He was calling. His throat was raw, bleeding, hot. He couldn't see anything through the blackness, but he could feel his center fighting it, pushing back the shadows. NotfastenoughNotenoughHavetofindDEAN! His thoughts swam, and he looked around frantically, trying to feel alive as the cold crept in on him, invaded him, suffocated him._

_Oh, please Dean. Hold on. I'm going to find you..._

* * *

Dean fiddled with the steering wheel idly, glancing at the dark windows of the motel. _Just leave. Just turn on the damn car and go. Dammit, Dean, LEAVE. _His brain was screaming at him, but he looked back at the lone building. Here, amidst the shops and stores, it seemed almost natural. _This is where he belongs. _Dean reminded himself. _This is life, this is what he deserves._

_But you don't care what he deserves, do you, Winchester?_ Dean groaned, let his forehead hit the leather of the seat behind him.

_Not now, I don't have time. _He warned, his hand on the key of the ignition.

"God dammit!" He snarled, throwing open the door to his car. He stared at the door to Sam's room, willing himself to go toward it, willing himself to get back in the Impala. "Okay." He said to himself, forced himself to get back inside the impala, starting the car with a low rumble. He moved out of park and looked at the door. _I can do this. I'll just drive away._He thought staring out the window.

_I can do this._

* * *

Sam woke up with a start. Something was in the room with him. He could feel it, hear it. It was speaking to him, deep inside him. Suddenly a hand covered his mouth, and he was staring at pitch black eyes. The weight of someone's body pinned him down, and he squirmed. _How?! The salt lines, I know I put them down._ He tried to push the demon off of him, his eyes traveling to the black devil's trap above the bed.

"Samael Audum...I have a message from your father." The demon snarled, and Sam closed his eyes, hands shoving at the body, rage filling him as his cries were muffled.

_Please, Dean. Help me._

* * *

Dean couldn't remember how he got here, but there he was, standing in front of Sam's door. He tensed, leaned his head against the wood. He took a deep breath, hand on the handle.

"Sam?" Suddenly there was a thud. "Sam?!" He called.

"Dean!" Dean looked at the door, taking a step back and shattering the hinges as he put his foot through the wood. The door collapsed into itself, and Dean darted into the room. Sam was pushed against the wall next to the door, struggling helplessly against the man pinning him there. Dean didn't think - he launched onto the demon, hands clawing at his back as he fumbled with the flask in his jacket pocket. Sam wrenched free and pushed away, grabbing Dean's collar and pulling him with him. They both rolled a few feet, and Dean got up, tried to jump again, but Sam was holding him back.

"Dean!" Dean glanced at him, and Sam nodded above his head. Dean looked at the ceiling and breathed a sigh of relief before falling to his knees.

"Don't scare me like that again."

* * *

The demon glared at them, sat cross legged on Sam's bed. Dean flicked a line of water at him, and he hissed as the droplets seared his skin.

"I already told you, I'll tell you everything." He snarled, and Dean grinned.

"I know. It's just more fun this way." He was sitting on a chair just on the other side of the devil's trap, relaxed as he swished the flask around, carelessly brandishing it towards his prisoner. The demon flinched and his eyes shone black. God, Dean hated that sight, even after all these years.

"Dean." Sam warned from behind the chair. Dean threw his head back to get an upside down look at him.

"Alright! Fine." He stared back at the bed. "Spill it. And we don't have much time before the super comes and asks about the noise, so make it quick." He ordered, the edge of his voice sharpened and honed.

"I already told the boy." The demon growled. "I came from his father. To deliver a message." He spat, staring down at the mattress.

"Bullshit!" Sam spat. "My dad might not be on great terms with me, but he wouldn't hire a hit." He said, ignoring Dean's doubtful glances.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't going to kill you. Not that it hadn't crossed my mind, but I promised your old man."

"Oh, and everyone knows how good your word is." Dean said and splashed him again, teeth clenched.

"Give me that." Sam gripped, tearing the flask from Dean's grasp like a father grabbing the sharp object from his toddler. "So what's the message." He continued.

The demon made a face. "He says that it is still after you, and he's not going to stop it." He snarled. "You gonna let me go?"

"What do you think?" Dean snapped, then turned to Sam. "What's he talking about?" he said, and Sam stared at his feet.

"He didn't tell you?" The demon laughed. "Well, looks like everyone has their secrets. Don't be too angry with him Dean, I mean, it's not good for you. You haven't told him everything, either, have you?" Dean's head whipped around.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean snapped. "You stay out of this."

"Well, your condition. Does Sammy know?" He looked at Sam, face blank. "Oh, you haven't. Well, that's probably a good thing. Disappointment, and all. What were you going to do, Dean, just leave? Let him think you abandoned him? Or were you going to just let him find you, you know, afterwards?"

"Dean? He's lying." Sam said. "What ever this is about, he's lying, right?" Dean wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Nope, Sammy, not lying." The demon grinned. "See, there was this demon, and Dean got...a little sloppy. It possessed him, bound itself to him. I wish I had that ability, it would be quite useful. Anyway, Dean 's buddies, they couldn't bear to kill him, he's too good a soldier to lose, so they tried to exorcise it anyway. Dean got control back, but the demon wouldn't leave. Now it's still inside him. No one expected him to last this long, the demon's riding him pretty hard. It wants out, and it will get out. Dean has to die first, but hey, its an omelet." Sam backed up against the wall.

"You sonuva bitch!" Dean growled, then moved towards Sam. "I was going to tell you. I just...I didn't expect us to be together very long. I didn't think it would matter." He soothed. Sam stared blankly at the floor.

"Now, Sam, you didn't tell him about yourself, either. You think he won't find you here?" The demon cut in.

"Shut up! I'll tell him, you just shut up!" The demon grinned, picked at the thinning blanket. "I...screwed up. Made a deal with a demon. He promised me he'd spare my father's life if I helped him get a certain item. He followed through. I didn't. Now he wants me dead." He finished.

"What was the item?" He asked.

"A pendant."

"A pendant for what?" Sam looked at his feet.

"It transfers power from one creature to another." Dean stared at him.

"Okay, so what creature did he want the power from?" He asked, trying to meet Sam's gaze. Finally, Sam looked into his eyes.

"Me." Dean reeled back, and the demon laughed behind him.

"Oh..." _What do you say to something like that?_

"Yeah, oh."

The demon knocked on the headboard. "Hey, guys, I hate to break up this touching moment, but I think you've forgotten about something like, I don't know, letting me out..."

Sam broke eye contact, walked past Dean.

"Exorcise the bastard." He said, then slammed the door behind him.

* * *

New motel room. Seemed exactly the same as the last, except Sam wasn't alone now.

They both unpacked in silence. Dean kept glancing at him, quick, furtive glares over his shoulder. Finally, he turned from his bag, knocking it onto the floor.

"How the hell could not tell me?" He demanded, voice still low and calm.

Sam clenched his hands around his clothes. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Bullshit, I had no reason to tell you. I wasn't putting myself in danger." Dean's resolve was falling already, his voice rising.

"No, you are only fucking dying!" Sam threw back. "God, why the fuck are you even here? Didn't I tell you to go? Didn't we say goodbye?"

"Yeah, it's a good thing I stuck around, huh?" Dean turned back to the dresser as Sam kicked the bed closest to him, making it shake in its frame.

"No! It's not! God, we don't even fucking get along! We can't even stand each other. I swear, we are the worst team _ever. _I mean, damn Dean, we haven't ever told each other the truth, not once since the moment we met."

"We only met four days ago, so there's not really a lot to go on, and as I recall, you seem to like when we argue." He spat, then instantly regretted it as Sam's face blanched in the dim light.

"Now is so not the time to bring that up, but God, leave it to you to make _this _about _that._" He stopped, took a deep breath, and when he spoke his voice was calmer, steadier. "Why am I even bothering to try to sort this out?" He demanded, eyes closed.

"Fine, you don't want to try, just fucking go, Sam! Fight this thing on your own, go a-fucking-head. I'm not stopping you." Dean was still yelling, his voice making Sam's bones vibrate.

"Okay, maybe I will." Sam said and started gathering his things.

"Good."

"Good." Sam agreed, rezipping his bag and heading to the door.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Leaving." Sam said simply, his rythmn towards the door keeping steady.

"Like hell you are!" Dean mutttered, rushing to catch up, wrenching the bag from Sam's hands and pushing him up against one wall of the short, narrow hallway that led to the door. He could smell Sam's after shave and shampoo, so strong he could almost taste it, and before he could stop himself his mouth was on Sam's, rough and desperate and angry.

Sam was pushing him away hurridly, and Dean tried to pull back but that mouth was chasing him, even as Sam's hands bruised his shoulders. Those hands slipped lower and gripped at his hips, digging into the material. Sam pulled away from him, finally, their foreheads resting together as their breaths clawed through the silence in the room. Dean rolled his hips against Sam's and Sam groaned, his eyes fluttering shut, and that was all Dean could take before he was pulling Sam back into the room, collapsing them both onto the narrow bed.

He had thought about stopping this, but that was before the taste of Sam's skin was overwhelming his senses, before Sam was writhing under him, muttering-groaning-fucking_wimpering_ things like 'now' and 'please' and 'ohgod_DEAN!.'_ and Dean was addicted to those noises, the way Sam bit at his lower lip as Dean mouthed his collar bone, the bruising touch of Sam's fingers on his skin.

His hands pushed up Sam's tee shirt, fumbling as it slid over Sam's head and his mouth was descending again, finding Sam's as those big hands tore at the buttons of his flannel shirt, parting the sides and sliding them back over freckled, smooth skin. And _God,_ Sam's hands were everywhere, sliding down his arms, across his chest, pressing briefly into his shoulder blades before finding Dean's belt buckle. Dean shook his head, swatted Sam's hand away as he felt the metal click.

_Have to stop this, he doesn't want this._ Dean thought to himself, but then Sam is staring up at him, eyes worried and hurt. Dean swooped down again, his kiss slower, deeper, taking his time as he slid his hands down Sam's stomach, finding the waistband to his jeans and tugging, and Sam is arching under his touch, letting Dean strip down boxers and denim together, plant fast, open mouthed kisses along his thigh, helping Dean push away his own jeans.

_Oh, god. _Dean thinks, feeling Sam underneath him, sliding until he fits so damn perfectly beneath him. Sam, who is guiding Dean's hips down until he can fell Sam pressing into his stomach. Sam, his eyes going shut as he grimaces.

_My lord._ Sam thinks, feeling the stretchburn of being one person. _We have always been one person. _He realizes in a hazy way, then thought coherence slides away as Dean rocks up, sending shivers down his body. He knows he is crying, and Dean is kissing away those tears. He mutters something that might be 'more' but he's not sure. Big slams of painpleasure are racking his body, and his legs are around Dean so tight he knows he's leaving bruises. Then Dean is groaning against his skin, moving faster, and Sam gasps with every movement, every twitch, until he feels Dean shudder over him, losing hold as he moves faster, hand wrapped around Sam almost hurtfully, both their bodies throbbing in time.

Sam is gritting his teeth and Dean's name feel foreign on his tongue as he comes, and Dean stares down at him, shocked as he follows Sam over, collapsing onto him.

_This is it, this is all I'll ever be good for._ Sam thinks, but Dean is chasing those thoughts away, his breath skimming aginst Sam's skin, his mouth a hot coal against the planes of his chest, his jaws, his face. And Sam remembers.

"Sammy, what's wrong?" And before he can stop himself, Sam is hitting Dean, big palms colliding with Dean's chest.

"You bastard!" He cries, and Dean scrambles to get away, moving backward off of him. Sam clamps his legs harder around him, arms grasping Dean's shoulders until Dean falls back onto him, stunned. "You bastard, how can you leave me? How can you...oh god, Dean, don't leave me." Dean is relaxing in Sam's grip, hands finding Sam's face and gripping his jaws.

"No, Sammy. Don't." But Sam is crying so hard he doesn't see the love there, sobs wracking his body. Dean rolls them over so he can pull Sam to him, lets Sam press against his chest.

"Okay. Okay." He soothes, hand working giant, sweeping arcs over Sam's back until Sam is still. And they fall asleep like that.

* * *

**Authors footnote:**

Okay, It got away from me. Tell me what you liked and what I need to hold back from. Especially tell me if the slash scene was too graphic, I try to refrain from pure smut, most of the time. I don't think there will be many more slash parts in this story, but we'll see.

Thank you for reading, and thank you if you review!


End file.
